


maybe, baby

by slytherincosette



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: 5 Times, 5+1 Things, F/M, M/M, eddie is clueless and sad, it all gets fixed, richie tozier is a fucking idiot but what else is new, this is the sappiest shit i have ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 17:15:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15667695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slytherincosette/pseuds/slytherincosette
Summary: “Well, you are the one that makes me glad…”“Richie, c’mon, let me finish my burger,” Eddie sighs, fighting back a smile.Richie responds by letting Eddie fall back into the booth, keeping hold of his left hand. Instead of sliding in next to him, Richie falls onto both of his knees, singing, “When someday you’ll want me, well, I’ll be there, wait and see…”His glasses are falling down his nose and his eyes are squeezed shut, giving every ounce of his energy into this ridiculous performance. He looks insane. Eddie wants to kiss him.-five times (out of many) that richie tozier sang a love song to eddie kaspbrak, and the time eddie finally believed him.





	maybe, baby

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [Maybe, baby](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15817479) by [pinkmutantpotato](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkmutantpotato/pseuds/pinkmutantpotato)



> this is so sappy, y'all, i don't even know what happened. enjoy 5000 words of the boys being clueless, and then being in love.
> 
> come say hi on tumblr!! @ slytherincosette stayin tru to my brand

(5)

Eddie’s lying in bed, feeling sorry for himself when the first pebble hits his window. Lazily, he turns his head to the side and squints. He knows it's Richie, because Richie’s the only one who has the balls to show face anywhere near Eddie’s house, nevermind throw rocks at it. Eddie’s probably got a thousand missed texts from Richie, and from Bev, from Stan...from everyone. Eddie had made the terrible mistake of mentioning a slight headache, and his mother lost it, yelling that his phone screen would make it a thousand times worse and probably give him cancer anyway. Eddie had then made the mistake of telling her that her screeching was probably even worse for his headache, which had resulted in his phone being taken away.

“You’re spending too much time with those horrible boys,” his mother had said, nose wrinkled in disgust, “I don’t like what they’ve done to you, sweetheart. They’ve made you _mean_.”

And with that, she had stifled a dramatic sob and marched off into her room, Eddie’s phone in tow.

Now, Eddie still has a headache. He has been sufficiently hopped up on Advil and there is an icepack balancing precariously on his forehead. He would try to go to sleep, except Richie Tozier is throwing rocks at his window like some kind of eighties movie heartthrob. Eddie could ignore it, but Richie is nothing if not persistent. Sighing, he pushes himself into a sitting position and lets the ice pack drop onto his bed. It leaks, a little. Now his bed has a wet spot, and it’s all Richie’s fault. Basically.

Eddie unlocks the window and pushes it up, scowling. Richie is standing on his front lawn, frozen in place, poised to throw another pebble. When Eddie leans out the window, Richie lights up. Something twists in Eddie’s stomach, but he stamps it down before he has to think about it and his head starts hurting even more.

“Eds!” Richie says, smiling brightly, “We thought you’d died!”

“And, what...our friends sent you here to make sure I hadn’t been murdered?” Eddie asks, raising one perfect eyebrow.

Richie drops the rock and scratches the back of his head sheepishly. “Nah, everyone else just figured your mom took your phone away. I, uh, took it upon myself to make sure you were alive and thriving.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Our friends, as usual, were correct, and you, as usual, were overdramatic. That’s exactly what happened. Now go away before my mom wakes up.”

“Aw, c’mon, Eddie, I rode all the way over here!” Richie gestures dramatically to his bike, laying unceremoniously a few feet away. “You’re gonna turn me away! It’s so cold, almost as cold as YOU!”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Eddie calls down, and he manages to close the window about half way before Richie starts fucking singing. 

“ _No, no, no, no way! No way I’m living without you!_ ” Richie wails, voice echoing down the empty street. It’s eleven o’clock at night and Eddie’s neighborhood is dark, but it won’t be for long if Richie doesn’t shut the fuck up. “ _You’re the best man I’ve ever known! Ain’t no way I could let you go!_ ”

Eddie leans so far out the window he almost falls. “Richard,” he hisses through gritted teeth, “What the everloving fuck?”

“ _And you, and you, and you, you’re gonna love me!_ ”

“You just skipped like three lines, you can’t even fucking--Jesus, fine, get up here, you _idiot_ …”

Richie throws up a mock salute and clambers gracelessly up the conveniently placed tree in Eddie’s front yard. If Eddie’s mom knew how many times his friends, especially Richie, climbed up that thing, she’d have it cut down tomorrow. Eddie steps aside as Richie stumbles through his window, nearly knocking over a lamp and Eddie’s alarm clock in the process. “I’m good, I’m good,” Richie says, sending a shooing motion Eddie’s way.

“I didn’t ask,” Eddie says flatly, falling back down on his bed.

“Bunch over,” Richie says immediately, plopping half on top of Eddie.

“What?” Eddie snorts, shoving at Richie before making space on his tiny twin, “You wanna cuddle?”

“Miss me with that gay shit,” Richie says solemnly, promptly shoving his cold nose against Eddie’s neck.

Eddie flinches away, gasps, “Shit, you’re freezing.” He pulls his favorite red blanket up over Richie, essentially tucking him in. Eddie tries not think about the implications of that. Richie sighs contently and snuggles into Eddie’s pillow. It’s so disgustingly cute that Eddie wants to rip his eyeballs out. “I guess you’re staying over?” he asks, although he already knows what the answer is going to be. At Richie’s tired nod, he adds, “Just be out by seven, my mom will--”

"Freak the freak out,” Richie snorts, his eyes drooping closed. “Yeah, dude, I know the drill. Just come sleep. You’re warm.”

Eddie falls asleep tangled up in Richie, but it’s _fine_. They’re friends. Best friends. That’s it.

\--

(4)

They’re in a fifties themed diner, where the waitresses ride around on skates, and Richie is in heaven. Ben and Beverly sit across from them, sharing a strawberry milkshake. Stan has a chair pulled up to the end of the table, hunched over his cheese fries like they’ll disappear if he doesn’t watch them like a hawk. In all fairness, Richie _has_ been sneaking fries every time Stan looks away for even a second.

“This is the coolest place in the entire world,” Richie sighs happily, sipping his chocolate milkshake.

Stan snorts. “You have very low standards.”

Richie presses a hand to his heart, looking scandalized. “Don’t say that about Eddie’s mom, Stanley! He’s right here!”

Eddie rolls his eyes and bites into his burger. Bev muffles a laugh behind her hand and they trade small smiles. Suddenly, Eddie is yanked out his seat by Richie and immediately twirled. He lands against Richie’s chest, with Richie’s arms around him, swaying to the beat. “Jesus Christ,” he mumbles.

“I love this song, Eds, you gotta dance with me,” Richie pleads, spinning Eddie out and causing him to nearly trip a waitress. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says quickly, but she only laughs him off. Turning back to Richie, he says, exasperatedly, “This is a _restaurant_ , Richie, you can’t just--”

“ _Maybe, baby, I’ll have you,_ ” Richie croons, pulling Eddie flat against his chest, one hand on his waist and the other in Eddie’s free hand, “ _Maybe, baby, you’ll be true…_ ”

Another waitress skates past them, giggling quietly. Eddie is so incredibly used to Richie’s public displays of idiocy, and he’s usually apart of them, so he’s not terribly embarrassed. He is, however, kind of grossed out at himself for enjoying this as much as he does. Richie twirls him around once more, and Ben catches him with a knowing glance before disappearing behind Richie’s six foot form. 

“ _Well, you are the one that makes me glad…_ ”

“Richie, c’mon, let me finish my burger,” Eddie sighs, fighting back a smile.

Richie responds by letting Eddie fall back into the booth, keeping hold of his left hand. Instead of sliding in next to him, Richie falls onto both of his knees, singing, “ _When someday you’ll want me, well, I’ll be there, wait and see…_ ”

His glasses are falling down his nose and his eyes are squeezed shut, giving every ounce of his energy into this ridiculous performance. He looks insane. Eddie wants to kiss him.

“Rich, get off the floor, do you know how many germs there are?”

Richie pops up, rolling his eyes. “Aw, c’mon, Eds, I’m trying to be romantic,” he whines, falling against Eddie and nearly squishing him.

Eddie shoves at him, laughing. “Go find someone that will find your idiocy charming, asshole.”

Richie shoots him a shit eating grin, says, “Why, darling, that’s why I chose you!”

Stan pretends to gag. “Can I finish my food? You guys make me wanna barf.”

“I think it’s sweet,” Bev says decisively, “Look at that young love, blooming right before our eyes.”

Eddie’s face starts to feel hot. Next to him, Richie snorts. “How poetic. You’ve been spending too much time with Benny-boy.”

“Well, he is my boyfriend,” Beverly shoots back, eyes lit up with amusement.

“Hmm, I could listen to you say that a million times,” Ben says dreamily. Stan fake gags again.

“Shut up and eat your cheese wiz, Uris,” Beverly says, flicking him in the ear.

A few moments later, one of the giggling waitresses gives Eddie and Richie a milkshake to share. “It’s on the house,” she winks, “Keep bein’ sweet!”

“Oh, hell yeah,” Richie says, beaming brightly. He’s still red and a little sweaty from dancing so hard. “Let’s share our love with the world, Eds. Apparently we’ll get free stuff.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, steals the milkshake for himself, and tries not to replay Richie saying “our love” over and over again and his mind.

\--

(3)

Eddie stands at the door of the Tozier residence with a cup of chicken noodle soup, a large orange gatorade, and a box of extra strength Advil. He carefully balances it all on one side and rings the doorbell. Only seconds later, Maggie Tozier appears, smiling brightly, a glass of red wine in one hand. 

“Hi, Mrs. Tozier,” Eddie greets politely, “Is Richie up for any visitors?

“Eddie! Please, hun, I’ve told you a thousand times. Call me Maggie. Mrs. Tozier sounds so old.” She waves him in, hip-bumping the door closed behind him. “Richie’s upstairs. Last I checked, he was sleeping, but I’m sure he’s up to see you. He always gets so excited when you come over.” Eddie ducks his head, unsure how to react, but he doesn’t have to. Maggie Tozier is exactly like her son; she doesn’t need anyone to respond for her to enjoy a conversation. “It was so sweet of you to bring soup over! Lord knows I can’t cook for anything, and Went isn’t home yet to make dinner. Go on up, love, don’t let me talk your ear off any longer! I’ll check on you boys in a bit, make sure Rich isn’t whining your ear off.”

With that, she goes off into the kitchen where Eddie can see a puzzle on the table. Eddie smiles to himself and heads up the stairs.

Richie’s room is a mess, as usual, and it smells like he hasn’t showered in days. Eddie wrinkles his nose, but knocks on the door frame. Richie’s curly head pops up from under a mountain of blankets. “Eddie?” he asks, weakly.

“Yeah, Rich, it’s me,” Eddie says, walking gingerly over several piles of clothes. 

“Are you a hallucination?” Richie asks, squinting.

Eddie laughs. “No, I’m real.”

“Promise?” 

“Promise.”

Richie lets his head fall against his pillow. He’s sweaty and pale and flushed in the cheeks. Eddie sets the soup and Advil on Richie’s side table, uncapping the Gatorade. “Sit up for me,” he says gently, “You need to stay hydrated. I come bearing Gatorade.”

“Orange?” Richie asks hopefully.

“Of course, idiot,” Eddie replies, reaching out to feel Richie’s forehead. Richie preens at the touch, then throws himself away from Eddie dramatically.

“Don’t get too close, you’ll get sick,” Richie says, voice muffled by pillows, “I don’t want to be the reason you have a panic attack.”

Eddie feels immediately fond. Richie is absolutely the only person in the world he would do this for. “C’mere, Rich, it’s fine,” he says, holding out the gatorade as a peace offering. “I promise, I’m fine. If I start to get nervous, I’ll leave.”

Richie sits up slowly and scoots back over to Eddie. He takes the Gatorade and sips slowly. “You take such good care of me,” he sighs, content. Eddie looks away, gut twisting. 

“There’s soup on the side table,” Eddie says quickly. He busies himself with opening the Advil box, fingers shaky and catching against the cardboard. That’s when he notices the song. He think it’s been playing on loop since he walked in, a background thought. “Is this...is this Carly Rae Jepsen?”

Richie nods, letting himself slide back down into his heap of blankets. Eddie quickly grabs the Gatorade from him before he spills it all over himself. “This is my sad playlist,” he mumbles, looking half-asleep already.

“Why?” Eddie asks, sitting on the edge of Richie’s bed.

“Cause m’sad,” Richie whines quietly, eyes sliding shut, “ _I know I’m just a friend to you, that I don’t ever get to call you mine…_ ”

“Rich--”

“ _But I still love you, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I love you…_ ”

Eddie drops the Advil. The pills clack around jarringly in their bottle. Richie doesn’t seem to notice.

“ _I’d break all the rules for you, break my heart and start again...._ ”

Richie nods off for a moment, the song hanging heavily over them. Eddie is frozen in place, the pill bottle lying uselessly on the floor. Richie is delirious with a fever. He’s probably not even singing it to Eddie, just singing it in _general_ , because Richie’s always singing. Eddie is probably overreacting, reading into something that isn’t there. 

“Eddie?” Richie asks, voice nothing more than a murmur. 

Eddie leans forward, brushes a curl out of Richie’s face. “Yeah, Rich. I’m here.”

\--

(2)

Junior prom is eighties themed. Richie goes all out, as usual. He’s in a ridiculous baby blue suit on top of a button up with the pattern from that fucking eighties cup--he can hear Richie in his ear yelling, “Solo Jazz pattern, Eds, you’re so fucking uncultured…”--and his curls are flying free. Bev matches him more than she does her actual date, in a horrendous baby pink gown with puffy sleeves and her hair teased to all hell. She really does look like Molly Ringwald, and Richie won’t stop singing “Pretty in Pink” every time she walks by. 

Neither Richie nor Eddie have dates, but Richie keeps telling everyone who will listen that _Eddie_ is his date. Eddie is a little affronted, because it’s not like Richie ever asked him. They didn’t even come together. Eddie got a ride with Stan. All the same, Eddie is wearing a baby blue tie that matches Richie’s god awful suit. It was a complete accident. Eddie definitely did not do it on purpose. Richie looks stupidly smug every time he sees it.

All in all, Richie’s a pretty good date. He doesn’t leave Eddie’s side the whole night, dancing only when Eddie wants to, and refilling his punch whenever he gets low. Eddie tries his hardest not to think about it, because then it will feel real, not just Richie being a good friend and humoring the only openly gay kid at Derry. It’s hard, though, when Richie keeps throwing an arm around the back of his chair and asking him to dance.

Finally, he says, “Rich, seriously, go dance. I’m fine here. Stan’s keeping me company.”

“Are you sure?” Richie asks. His eyes are comically wide and he looks very concerned. 

Eddie laughs. “Yeah, seriously. I know you’re dying to get out and woo some ladies with your sick dance moves.”

It might be Eddie’s imagination, but Richie’s shoulders seem to droop a little. His smile looks a little forced when he says, “Yeah, you know it, Eds.”

He walks off and immediately steals Bev from Ben, who laughs good-naturedly and turns to do some weird macarena hybrid with Bill. Next to him, Stan snorts. “He wants to dance with you, stupid.”

Eddie frowns. “Who, Ben?”

Stan rolls his eyes. “You’re an idiot.”

Eddie pats his leg. “Thanks bud.”

They sit in silence for a few songs, Stan sipping at his punch and Eddie swaying to the music. He watches Bill move through the crowd, charming girl after girl into dancing with him. He sees Mike dancing with a girl from his math class, twirling and laughing with her. He sees Ben and Bev off in the own little world, slow dancing to “Come on Eileen.” He’s lost sight of Richie, which means he’s probably gone off for a smoke.

Eddie stands up, intent on looking for Richie. Stan glances up at him, says, “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

Eddie finds Richie in the school courtyard, sleeves pushed up, a cigarette lit between his fingers. “That shit’s gonna kill you,” Eddie says, and Richie jumps.

“Jesus, Eds, warn a guy,” Richie laughs. He crushes the cigarette beneath his dress shoe and stands up, pushing his glasses up his nose. Standing here, smelling vaguely of smoke and wearing the most horrendous outfit Eddie’s ever seen, Richie is the most beautiful boy in the entire world.

“Sorry,” Eddie says, swallowing roughly. “You should stop smoking.”

Richie looks sheepish. “Yeah, you’re right. I know you hate it.”

“My opinion doesn’t matter,” Eddie shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets and glancing at the ground.

“Course it does,” Richie says easily, “Matters more than anyone else’s.”

Through the propped door, “Take My Breath Away” floats into the courtyard. They stare at each other for a moment, before Richie wordlessly offers a hand. Eddie hesitates for only a second before taking it. Richie pulls Eddie up against him, and Eddie thinks that this feels different than the time they danced at the diner; this feels real. Instead of unpacking that thought, he lays his head against Richie’s shoulder, and the sway.

“ _Watching, I keep waiting, still anticipating love_ ,” Richie sings, quietly.

“Don’t ruin the moment, Rich,” Eddie mumbles, muffling a smile against Richie’s terrible suit.

Richie’s voice turns teasing. “ _Never hesitating to become the fated ones_ \--that’s us, Eds, we’re the fated ones-- _turning and returning to some secret place to hide…_ ”

“You’re the worst,” Eddie laughs, finally glancing up at Richie. 

He’s not expecting Richie to look so _soft_. Richie’s got this tiny smile on his face, looking totally blissed out, and Eddie doesn’t know what that means. Fuck, this was a bad idea.

“C’mon, loser,” Eddie murmurs, pulling away. For a moment, Richie looks lost. Eddie grabs his hand. “Let’s go take some cheesy prom pictures.”

Eddie ends up with two pictures that night. One is of him on Richie’s back, Richie bent forward to balance him, both laughing at the camera. The other is a classic prom picture, with Richie in front, his back to Eddie’s chest. They look ridiculous, because Richie is so much taller, but they’re both beaming at the camera and Eddie loves it. He hides them both under his mattress where his mom won’t find them.

 

\--

(1)

They’re at a party with Richie’s weird drama kid friends when Eddie loses his entire shit.

It starts off innocently enough, with a basement full of lightweight teenagers and a karaoke machine. Right now, Bill’s up there, yelling his way through “You Oughta Know” while several theater kids cheer him on. Stanley, who the song is unfortunately about, is lying face down on a couch. The song does not fit the situation _at all_ , but Eddie’s gotta give it to Bill. He’s got the passion for it.

Eddie makes his way over to Bev, who’s sipping a mixed drink casually. “Who let Bill do this?” he asks, filling a cup of his own.

“I think Rich egged him on,” Bev replies, nodding at Richie, who is clearly trashed and headbanging along to Bill’s screaming. “Go get your man.”

“He’s not my man,” Eddie says immediately.

Bev rolls her eyes. “Sure.”

Eddie decides a subject change is the best course of action, so he says, “I got part of the story from Bill, but he was drunk and sobbing, so I don’t trust him. What happened with Stan?”

“Jesus,” Bev says, blowing out a breath, “That boy is a mess. Basically, Stan told Bill that he didn’t believe Bill was serious about dating him, which...I get, because Bill’s _such_ a fuckboy, and Bill decided a great outlet for his feelings was to scream into a microphone. It’s...not helping his case. Stan has gone literally catatonic.”

“I hate that,” Eddie says.

Bev snorts. “Me too.”

Eddie pushes off of the wall and means to head towards Stan, but then Bill stumbles off the mini-stage and Richie stumbles onto the mini-stage, which probably means bad news for Eddie. It’s unspoken among the Loser’s that Richie is Eddie’s responsibility, and Eddie does not need this right now. 

“How’s everybody doin’ tonight?” Richie slurs into the microphone. Bill whoops so hard that he falls over. Jesus Christ, his friends are idiots. “I wanna...I wanna sing a song. I always sing ‘im songs but he never believes me! Eddie Kaspbrak, Eddie...Eddie Clap-That-Ass...this song is for you, baby!”

Oh, sweet Jesus. No fucking way.

“HIT IT!” Richie yells, right before he starts moshing all over the stage. There’s some upbeat techno music, and then, “ _Who’s around when the days feel long? Who’s around when you can’t be strong?_ ”

“This isn’t happening,” Eddie mutters to himself, downing the rest of his cup in one swift motion and going back for another. Somebody drapes a feather boa around his neck and runs away. Eddie’s pretty sure it’s Bev. 

“ _Who cares that you get home safe? Who knows you can’t be replaced?_ ”

Eddie is mostly impressed that, in Richie’s belligerently drunk state, he can even remember the words. Eddie _knows_ he’s not reading them off the prompter, because his glasses are nowhere to be seen. Which means Richie is essentially blind right now and will probably fall of the stage. Eddie would care more, if Richie wasn't in the middle of publicly humiliating him.

Eddie knocks back another drink, feeling his head start to swim. Good. He can’t be sober for this. 

“ _Somebody misses you when you’re away! They wanna wake up with you every day!_ ”

Eddie stumbles over to the couch. Stan has lifted his head, blinking blearily up at the stage. “Is Bill done?” he asks, stumbling over his words, “I wanna g’home.” He squints. “Wass Richie doin’?”

“Being an asshat,” Eddie mutters back. 

Before Stan can say anything, Richie’s screaming, “Eddie! There you are! Come sing with me Eds, sing with me, I love you, Eds, you gotta…”

“Oh my fucking God,” Eddie whispers in horror.

A few feet away, Bill is on the ground, sobbing, “Everyone gets to experience love but me!”

Ben sighs heavily and plucks Bill off the ground like he’s nothing. Just beyond them, Ben is dancing wildly, arms flailing. Richie is still fucking singing, singing about how he _loves_ Eddie, and Eddie can’t take another fucking second of it.

“Bill will never love me,” Stan moans, rolling off of the couch and onto the floor.

“ _Oh, somebody loves you_ \--it’s me, Eds, I love you-- _oh, somebody loves you_...”

Eddie turns on his feet and walks towards the basement steps, wiping at his face as he goes. God, he will not cry. He will not. He almost runs Mike over in his haste to get to the door, tripping over his own feet. He’s drunker than he thought. Everything is dizzy.

The music stops abruptly, and there’s a horrible screeching sound as the microphone is dropped to the floor. Eddie doesn’t stop, no matter how many times Richie calls his name. He runs up the steps, nearly falling down a few times, before he’s finally able to push open the door and enter the kitchen of a stranger’s house. No one is there, and he can finally breathe.

Until Richie comes stumbling up right after him, face twisted up in worry, reaching for Eddie like he didn’t just accidentally ruin Eddie’s life. “Eds, are you--”

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie spits out, venomous. Richie visibly recoils. 

“Eddie,” Richie says, looking lost.

“You have to stop, Richie,” Eddie yells, and his voice cracks, just a little. He feels his face go red, tries to fight back the tears, but it doesn’t matter. “You have to stop.”

Richie takes a step forward. “What? Stop what?”

“Stop acting like you like me!” Eddie bites out. Tears are streaming down his face and he feels like an idiot, standing in someone else’s kitchen, screaming at his best friend in the entire world over a stupid, harmless song. “It breaks my fucking heart, okay?”

“ _Eddie_ ,” Richie whispers, face crumpling, and Eddie can see tears appearing in Richie’s eyes, he looks so _sad_ , “Eddie, it’s not like that--”

“Stop saying my name!” Eddie spins away, arms crossing defensively, “I’ve been in love with you for years, Richie, and you keep doing this shit and _saying_ this shit but you don’t _mean_ it and it kills me.” Eddie takes a shuddering breath, and says to the kitchen cabinets, “You need to fucking stop. You’re breaking my heart.”

Behind him, Richie draws in a sharp breath. Eddie doesn’t wait around to see if he’ll say anything else.

\--

(+1)

They don’t talk all weekend.

Eddie thinks it might be the longest they’ve ever gone not talking. He has a few unopened texts from Richie, saw one that started with _eds i’m so sorry_ , and decided he couldn’t quite deal with Richie’s rejection. Not yet. He’ll deal with it on Monday.

But Monday morning comes, and Eddie tells his mom he’s not feeling well. He gets to stay home, ignoring the buzzing of his phone.

Tuesday, Eddie decides it's time to stop throwing himself a pity party, and he gets out of bed. He assures his mom that he feels fine and bikes to school like he always does, headphones in, listening to the saddest playlist he can find. He walks into homeroom with his head down, ignoring Ben and Mike’s worried glances, and buries his head in his arms.

He manages to make it through the entire day avoiding Richie, even going as far as to eat lunch in the corner of the library, hidden by stacks and stacks of books. They don’t have classes together because Richie is in all AP, and Eddie purposely avoids all of the spots he usually uses to meet up with Richie throughout the day. 

After a full day of being incredibly careful, blending into the crowd and ignoring each and every one of his friends, he finally makes a mistake. He walks past the band room, sees a familiar head of curly hair hunched over a guitar, and fucking _bolts_. Richie always hangs out in the band room after school, and Eddie meets him there after Debate Team practice. He must have walked that way on pure instinct. He doesn’t get much farther than a few feet before Richie’s running after him, guitar in hand, calling, “Eddie, wait.”

Eddie stops and takes a deep breath. Forcing a smile on his face, he turns. “Hi, Richie. I’m just on my way home. I’ll see you later.”

“Eds--Eddie,” Richie says, eyes pleading, “Can you come with me? Please.”

Eddie blinks once, twice. He feels himself nod. Richie smiles, small and tentative, before reaching out and grabbing Eddie’s wrist. He pulls him back into the band room and closes the door behind him.

“Can you just...take a seat?”

Again, Eddie nods. He sits in the front row, facing Richie. He feels numb all over. Richie is about to sit him down and have _the talk_ , the “I don’t like you like that but can we still be friends?” talk. It’s going to smash Eddie’s heart into pieces. 

“So, uh,” Richie pulls up a chair directly across from Eddie and sits, guitar in his lap, “Since I’m really bad at public gestures, apparently, I wanted to...try again?”

Eddie’s eyebrows knit together. “What do you mean?”

Richie blows out a breath. “I...I want to sing you a song. And I want to make it clear that I mean it, okay? I need you to understand that I mean every single word.” Richie waits until Eddie nods, then clears his throat, and begins.

“ _For you, they’ll be no more crying. For you, the sun will be shining._ ”

Oh. This is...not what Eddie was expecting.

“ _Cause I feel that when I’m with you, it’s alright. I know it’s right._ ”

Richie’s fingers move over the guitar deftly, like he’s practiced this song a million times. Maybe he has. Eddie feels something prickle in his eyes. This is too good to be true. This is…

“ _The songbirds keep singing, like they the score. And I love you, I love you, I love you, like never before._ ”

“Oh,” Eddie says, before he can stop himself.

Richie lets out a wet laugh, stumbling over the chords. “Fuck, I lost my place,” he says, and they’re both crying. God, they must look so dumb. Two idiots crying over a guitar in the middle of the band room. “Just...here’s the important part, okay? Listen, just keep listening.”

Eddie nods, half-crying, half-laughing. He scoots his chair closer, and he leans forward.

“ _I wish you all the love in the world, but most of all, I wish it from myself. The songbirds keep singing, like they know the score. And I love you, I love you, I love you, like never before._ ” Richie stops playing, pushes his glasses up to wipe at his eyes. “God, Eddie, I was never joking. I was always seriously. Every love song. I meant every word.”

Eddie launches himself off the chair and nearly knocks Richie over. He wraps his arms around Richie’s neck, leaning awkwardly over the guitar. Richie’s arms snake around his back, fingers clutching at his sweater like a lifeline. “I love you, too, Richie, I love you so much,” he whispers, and Richie lets out a choked sound, “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

“Why would you?” Richie asks, shaking his head. His hair tickles Eddie’s ear. “I was an idiot, I couldn’t just _tell you_ , I had to go and be a dick about it and turn it into a joke, I…”

“It’s okay,” Eddie says, pulling away and laughing wetly, “We figured it out. That’s all that matters.”

“I’ve been in love with you since before I knew what that even meant,” Richie tells him, pressing their foreheads together. “Can I kiss you?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions,” Eddie murmurs, closing the gap between them. 

Later, when they’re properly disheveled and finally done kissing, they walk out of the band room hand in hand. Triumphantly, Richie raises both of their hands up and yells down the near empty hallway, “Eddie Kaspbrak is my boyfriend!”

Greta Keene looks up from her phone and says, boredly, “Yeah, we fucking knew.”

Richie looks down at Eddie, pushing his glasses farther up his nose. “Guess we were the only two fuckin’ idiots who didn’t.”

Eddie grins, bright and happy, and tugs Richie towards the school doors. “Let’s go to your house,” he says, and he leans around to smack at Richie’s ass, “We have a lot of time to make up for.”

“Lord, have mercy,” Riche groans, in a truly awful Uncle Jess impression, and Eddie has never been more in love with the idiot. Almost as if he read his mind, Richie pauses, looks down at Eddie with the softest fucking eyes, and says, “I love you so much. Did you know that?”

“I did,” Eddie says, wrapping his arms around Richie’s middle, “But you can tell me again.”

“I love you,” Richie says, smiling crookedly. God, he’s beautiful.

“I love you, too,” Eddie says, and he thinks that he could listen to Richie sing a million more love songs and never get sick of it.


End file.
